Splendor in the Grass
by Spikesgirl58
Summary: A man should never be held to anything he says under the influence of truth serum, even if he means it. Warning: Adults only please


Napoleon took a step and tumbled head on into the tall weeds. The landing should have knocked the air out of him, but all it did was make him laugh. Perhaps later he would be somber, but at the moment, everything was skittles and beer. That thought made him laugh even more. What the hell were skittles anyway?

"Napoleon, hush," Illya scolded as he knelt beside the man. "Are you injured?"

"Yes," Napoleon confessed, trying to look very serious. "You broke my heart. How will I go on?"

"She was going to cut your throat, Napoleon." Illya sighed and scanned the horizon. "I have to give THRUSH credit. Whatever they gave you certainly did the trick."

"Ack." Napoleon propped himself up on his elbows and Illya leaned closer, visibly concerned.

"What's wrong? Are you choking?"

"No, it was called ACK. Acquire Certain Knowledge or something equally stupid. Another guy had a really dumber name… dumber? More stupid…" Napoleon started to laugh again and rolled onto his back to stare up at the cloudless sky. "THRUSH is really stupid, Illya."

"I would agree."

"But you're not." Napoleon voice softened and Illya darted a look at him.

There was something about Napoleon's eyes that almost made Illya ask a question, THE question, but he knew wouldn't be fair with Napoleon in such a state. Instead, he nodded. "Thank you. Can you walk?"

"Yes, but I'd rather scre –"

"I know what you'd rather do, but we are escaped prisoners and I imagine THRUSH is pretty keen on retrieving the stolen microfilm from us." Illya stood with a grimace and pulled Napoleon to his feet. "We need to keep moving."

"But I'm tired and your shirt is all stained." Napoleon tried to reach for Illya's buttons. "You should take it off so I can wash it for you. You'd feel better in a clean shirt."

"Later, Napoleon, I'm still using it. Right now, I will feel much better once we've secured a little cover. " Half carrying, half dragging the groggy CEA, Illya guided them from the meadow to the cover of the forest.

"'m tired," Napoleon murmured, shoulders drooping.

"I know and you can rest now." Illya left Napoleon leaning back against a tree and walked a short distance. Taking out his communicator, he twisted it open. "Open Channel D, please. Priority scramble."

"Go ahead, Mr. Kuryakin." Waverly's voice was louder and Illya caught himself trying to shush his superior.

"Sir, we've accomplished our mission, but I'm afraid not without consequence." Illya looked back at his partner, who was picking up a leaf and watching it fall again and again. "Mr. Solo was injected with some sort of drug, a combination truth serum and nitrous oxide compound."

"Can he travel?"

"We're working on it, but he's making covert movement a bit of an issue." Napoleon chose that moment to start singing "God Bless America".

"So I hear. What do you need, Mr. Kuryakin?"

"I'd like to request an air strike be called in. That would give us a bit more leeway."

"You have the microfilm?"

Illya brought a hand up to his tie and his fingers found the hard strip hidden within the lining. "Yes, sir."

"I will issue the orders, then. Put as much distance between you and them as possible."

"I understand. Thank you, sir."

Illya tucked the communicator away and looked over at the tree for Napoleon. The man wasn't there and Illya felt a stab of concern.

"Napoleon?" he half shouted, half whispered.

"Yes, Illya?" The voice was behind the clump of trees.

Illya hurried to the spot, then stopped and turned to give Napoleon some privacy. "Sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt you."

"I ran out." Napoleon sounded so forlorn that Illya could barely keep from hugging him in consolation. "I was trying to write Napoleon loves-"

"We need to move, Napoleon. The bombers are coming in and we need to be gone. Finish and zip up."

"Can I tell you a secret?" Napoleon asked as he carefully tucked himself away.

"If it means speeding up the process, then yes."

"You need to come closer." Napoleon beckoned and, sighing, Illya leaned in. His eyes widened slightly at what Napoleon whispered. "What do you think?"

"I think that is a very excellent secret and one best left for the future. Come on, now. Let's go."

Quiet cursing woke Illya from his uneasy doze. A stray sunbeam had cut through the brush he'd piled up in front of the cave where they'd taken refuge. The bombers hadn't come close, but Illya had preferred to stay undercover, just in case.

Wincing, he sat up and glanced in the direction of the voice. Napoleon was sitting up, head cradled in his hands. Illya looked around and found the canteen he'd snagged from the THRUSH hideout.

"Here, Napoleon, drink something." He held the canteen out to Napoleon and after a moment the brunet took it from him. He swished out his mouth with the first mouthful and spit it out. The second mouthful, he swallowed slowly.

"I feel as if my head is going to explode."

"That's the problem with THRUSH. They are good with the delivery, but not as much with the aftermath." Illya crawled to the mouth of the cave and looked out. They had maybe an hour of daylight left. "Try to get a bit more rest. We're going to have to head for the rendezvous point soon."

"Okay." The canteen was passed back and Illya set it aside. He laid back and again shut his eyes. There was a few minutes of uneasy silence and then Napoleon asked, "Illya?"

"Yes, Napoleon?"

"I… ah... I didn't say… what I mean is, when I was… under the influence…"

"I would never take anything you said while suffering from truth serum to heart, Napoleon."

"So, I didn't… don't have anything to apologize for?"

"Not at all, although, I should have recorded the conversation. You were quite verbose."

"About what?"

"Mostly about the women at HQ. If they only knew what you said, they would hang you in effigy."

"That's what I was afraid of."

"We will not speak of it again." Illya paused and let a smile play on his lips. "Although we will need to discuss the living arrangements once we get back to New York."

"Ah… why?"

"You told me you loved me and wanted to wallow in sin with me. I don't do my wallowing where just anyone can see. And then you said some very odd things that I am still trying to fathom." Illya grinned at Napoleon's muttered curse. "And I know you never tell a lie."

"Are you okay with it?" Napoleon asked softly.

"Very okay, but I think this is neither the time nor the place to discuss it."

Napoleon stretched out on his stomach on the bed, only a film of sweat separating his skin from the cool night air. There was a smirk on his lips, a come- hither look in his eyes and the feeling of completion in his soul as he watched Illya, shirt agape, riding crop resting on his shoulder, walk resolutely into the room.

"Sorry, I'm late," he muttered. "It takes forever to park a horse here."

"You should try the stable. I like you get up."

"It suited its purpose and we are now free of the microfilm."

Napoleon rolled over, his erection springing up. "I sort of started without you."

"Just as long as you waited for me for the big finish." Illya tossed the crop aside and peeled off his gloves. "Room in there for me?" He nodded to the bed. It took him no time to get rid of the shirt and his pants.

"It might be tight."

"Tight is very good." Illya eased down on top of Napoleon and grinned. A moment later, Napoleon sighed and grinned as well.

"A very good thing, indeed."


End file.
